


By The Hand

by Nosfer-baa-tu (Ponkerdragonrock)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Feelings Realization, Getting Together, M/M, Star Trek Secret Santa 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponkerdragonrock/pseuds/Nosfer-baa-tu
Summary: My submission for STSS2020. McCoy and Spock find something to agree on.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	By The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing Spones, I hope you enjoy it! All mistakes are my own.

Spock sat in the medbay, legs dangling over the side of the bed, perhaps if he were more human he’d be swinging his feet. Doctor McCoy stood beside him, tricorder in hand, scanning the Vulcan with a lazy confidence.  
“Doctor, I assure you I am in acceptable health for one of my species. I would prefer to return to my duties than endure your tests any longer.” Bones tutted, holding up a finger for silence, an exaggerated frown corrugating his brow.  
“Keep your ass on the bed darlin’, you’re done when I say you’re done.”  
“I fail to understand why my physical examination could not be postponed until Doctor M’Benga’s return.”  
“Oh so you like Geoff better than me, huh?” McCoy teased, raising an eyebrow. Before Spock could refute the assertion, Bones snapped the tricorder shut. “It’s over sweetheart, you can untwist your regulation panties.” He clapped Spock on the shoulder patronisingly.  
“Doctor, it is difficult to maintain respect for your position on the crew when your personal conduct so consistently shows a marked lack of respect for others.” With that Spock rose, shrugging off McCoy’s hand and striding out of the medbay, the door swooshing closed behind him. Bones stared after him, words like ‘touchy’ and ‘passive-aggressive’ bouncing around his skull. 

Half-muttering to himself, McCoy replaced the tricorder in the storage cabinet. Leaning against the countertop, he folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t know why he pulled Spock’s pigtails so much, apart from the humourless Commander being such an easy target. He supposed to himself that it was merely curiosity, perverse interest in flapping the unflappable. Bones chuckled quietly as he imagined Spock’s cheeks burning green with emotion, a stark contrast to his usual superior demeanour. It amused him, picturing the Vulcan out of control. The imagined Spock’s eyes flashed bright and intense, framed by his striking eyebrows and high cheekbones. His expression shifted from anger to something else, no less captivating, but hungrier. McCoy shook his head, he was not about to let himself think about Spock like that.

\---

Later that day, against his better judgement, Bones stood outside Spock’s quarters. He bounced on the balls of his feet, torn between running away immediately, pressing the door chime and then running away to a safe distance where he could watch Spock emerge to look for a visitor who wasn’t there, or ringing for entry and standing his ground like a mature adult. Acting on a sudden impulse, he hit the door chime, calves screaming at him that they wanted to run like hell, right now, come on! A muscle in his thigh twitched as the door slid open.

Spock was seated at his desk, PADD lying in front of him.  
“Doctor.” He stood from his chair. “Is there an emergency? I have received no communications.” McCoy tried to smile pleasantly, but ended up with a half-grimace.  
“No emergency, Commander. May I come in?” His hands were clasped resolutely behind his back. Spock inclined his head in permission, and Bones stepped into the room.  
Vulcan artefacts were arranged tastefully on the walls, the bookshelves host to scientific texts from all manner of discipline and species. He stood awkwardly as the door slid closed behind him. Spock looked expectant.  
“Doctor?” He coughed uncertainly.  
“Commander, I, uh, wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier, my folks didn’t raise me to be insulting. I guess it’s a kinda culture-clash, we rub each other the wrong way, but that don’t mean I shouldn’t apologise.” His eyes were fixed firmly on the carpet.  
“I accept your apology, Doctor.” Bones looked up in shock. He’d expected Spock to say something snarky about not having feelings to hurt, or raise an eyebrow and regard him with disdain.  
“That’s great, Spock, a weight off my mind.” He stuck out his hand. Spock hesitated, handshakes obviously not a Vulcan custom, before grasping his hand gently. McCoy grinned, slapping Spock on the shoulder. “Good man, er, Vulcan.” Spock was regarding him strangely, releasing his grip swiftly before stepping away.  
“If that is all, Doctor, I should like to return to my reading.”  
“Oh sure, enjoy your evening.” Bones bounced out of the first officer’s quarters with a wave, leaving Spock alone. He sat down abruptly, the chair complaining noisily at the sudden movement. Gripping his knees, Spock leant forwards, attempting to process the feelings he had detected accidentally through their physical contact.

He had not expected McCoy to apologise, and to feel such interest through their contact was overwhelming. Despite what would be his insistence to the contrary, Spock was deeply affected by the Doctor’s apparent dislike for him. In himself he had fostered a quiet respect for the man and his dedication to his work and his captain, and it hurt more each time Bones chose to use his differences as an insult, but at least that was what he had come to expect. To have McCoy admit fault had shaken Spock in a manner he couldn’t have predicted. For the Doctor to then unwittingly transmit such genuine affection for him was even more unthinkable.

Spock released his grasp on his knees, he could feel small bruises left under his fingertips. He rose, concentrating on his breathing. A meditation session would surely clear his mind.

\---

The next evening found Bones in his quarters, lounging on his reclining chair. He squinted adversarially at the medical paper on the PADD in his hand, some new Orion treatment for skin rashes, when the door chimed.  
“Be my guest.” He called, and the door swished open to reveal Spock. Bones had expected Scotty, maybe Jim, come to partake of his unreplicated bourbon.  
“May I-” Spock started.  
“What can I d-” McCoy began. He chuckled as they both stopped. “Come in, Spock.” The Vulcan inclined his head in thanks, and stepped into the CMO’s quarters. It was a stark contrast to his own; framed pictures and purposeful trinkets scattered in organised chaos.  
“You probably don't, but...” Bones gestured to his well-stocked liquor tray, clean glasses at the ready. Spock shook his head.  
“No, thank you, Doctor. May I sit?”  
“Sure.” McCoy pulled out a chair, then seated himself back on his recliner, markedly less relaxed than he had been a minute ago. He was reluctant to speak. Spock looked like he was mustering a lot of resolve, a sight rarely witnessed, and Bones was loath to interrupt.  
A few moments passed, charged with uncertainty.  
“Leonard,” Spock said finally. Bones was taken aback, so few people used his first name. “As you may be aware, the Vulcan species possess a specific telepathic ability, communicable via touch. My existence as a half-Vulcan limits these powers further. Yesterday when you shook my hand, I was able to sense strong emotions through that contact.”  
“Spock, my emotions? Wha-” McCoy spluttered, but Spock held up his hand.  
“Please, allow me to continue. I experienced your feelings in relation to myself, and I shall endeavour to clarify the matter from my own perspective.” Bones sat with his mouth slightly open, seemingly able only to nod.  
“Thank you. I have an admiration for you, Leonard. If you would be so inclined, I would like to explore further our affection towards each other. If I have overstepped my bounds, I apologise, I have never found cause to ask this of someone before.” Bones’ mouth was now fully open. He shut his jaw with a click.  
“Spock, I-” He stopped himself. “Take my hand, I was never good with speeches.” Spock stared earnestly, clasping McCoy’s offered hand between his own. Both men closed their eyes.

There was dark. Warm, comfortable dark, like sleeping in a familiar room on a late spring night. Bones could feel every joint in Spock’s hands, could have named them easily in human medical terms. He concentrated on the cool skin touching his, pushing all his memories and thoughts of Spock to their point of contact. Amusement, frustration, care, misunderstanding, worry, loyalty, fondness. A swirling river of pure feeling directed into Spock’s palms.

He heard the Vulcan’s intake of breath, then his hand was dropped entirely. There was a disorienting second as he tried to open his eyes before he felt fingers at his temples.  
“Is this okay, Leonard?” Spock’s voice was tight, rough.  
“Yes.” He couldn’t have said more if he tried. The soft darkness returned, then an image drifted lazily towards him. There he was, on the bridge next to Jim, prodding the Captain in the ribs as they laughed at something he’s said. Then there he was again, now in the cafeteria in the middle of a heated debate with Chekov. Then another tableau with him in the centre, another, and another. All from Spock’s perspective, snapshots alive with sound and emotion. “Spock.” He breathed, and his temples were released slowly, the images fading.

In front of him was Spock, face stoic but eyes wet. Bones took the man’s face in his hands with a sigh.  
“Vulcan son of a bitch.” He muttered, leaning forwards and planting a kiss on Spock’s waiting lips.


End file.
